Never Alone: The Prequel
by Evening Starbossa
Summary: This explores the friendship between Erik and Madame Antoinette Giry.  It takes place from their first meeting up through some of the movie events.  It was inspired by a few portions in my other story, 'Never Alone', so read that one first!
1. Erik's First Night

**A/N: STOP! Before you read any further, have you read "Never Alone"? If not, I suggest you do as this was inspired by quite a few moments in that story. I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters! Feedback is welcome!**

** I close the **vent behind me and turn around. I am in a room filled with candles. _What is this place?_ I do not have time to ponder. The dancing girl...Antoinette, was it?...is in the doorway. She grabs my hand and pulls me down a hallway and through several doors before we finally reach a set of spiral stairs. She has a torch in her hand, and I must hurry to follow her down into the darkness. She starts going on about how these caverns were used in the Revolution, but I cannot pay attention to that. All I can think about is what I have just done. _He had it coming. It was your life or his._

We have reached the bottom of the stairs now, and we are trapped. The light from the torch reveals an entire lake in the underground caverns. _Is this it? Have you brought me here to die?_ Antoinette points out a worn out wooden thing that must have been a boat once. It floats, nonetheless, and I wait for her to step in. "This is as far as I go. I will return with some food and clothes. Wait here." She does not wait for me to protest. She leaves me alone in the darkness, and all I can hear are her footsteps fading and the occasional squeak of a rat. _It's okay. I'm used to rats. Rats don't care if you're the Devil's Child._

While I wait for the dancer to return, my thoughts wander to the others. Do they miss me? _I doubt it._ Most ignored me. A few were kind enough to answer my questions and teach me a thing or two about whatever piqued my curiosity at the moment, but I could tell. They'd rather I not exist. _Do they miss _him_ then? _A bitterly sour taste comes to my mouth as I think of that filthy scum of a man who once called himself my master. If I had had time, I really would have given him what he deserves. Namely his whipping stick broken over his head. I feel myself smirk at the thought.

At last, I see the torch light come bouncing down the stairs, announcing her return. She tosses me a cloth sack, very similar to the one I am wearing now. "It's not much, but it will have to do for now. I'll be bringing more each week, so be sure to meet me in this very spot." She points out a long pole leaning against the wall. I assume it's use is to guide the boat through the waters.

"Light?" I point to the torch.

"Very well. I think I can find my way back." I can tell that she is hinting at something. Namely me walking her back so she's not alone in the darkness. _But what if I'm caught?_ I throw the sack into the boat and step in. "Good night, then. I'll see you back here in a week." _How long is a week?_ I really should ask her, but she is gone already. Once again alone in the darkness, I push the boat through the water. The caverns are much larger than I thought. I remain close to the walls, moving the torch around in order to get a better look. The air is damp and cold around me, yet I can hardly breathe under my sack. Slowly I pull it off of my head. There's no one to see me now. No one to scream, laugh, and jeer. No one to hit me and chain me in a cage. No one.

I float around a corner. The torch reveals a fair-sized platform along half of the wall. It looks dry enough. I land the boat and step out. Yes, this will make a decent home. For how long, I do not know. I retrieve the sack Antoinette gave me and pull out a loaf of bread, a shirt, and a blanket. Not knowing how long a week is, I force myself to only take a nibble of the bread before placing it back in the sack. I set the torch on the floor and lay the blanket out near it. Finally warm, I curl up and drift off into sleep...a sleep that is not without its fair share of nightmares.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short...I'll try to make the rest of the chapters much longer, so just consider this chapter the prologue. More soon, so stick around! Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks!**


	2. On Antoinette's Mind

**A/N: Just to avoid confusion, I'm going to be alternating POV each chapter. The first chapter was Erik, now we'll switch to Antoinette, and the next one will be Erik again. Just thought I'd let you know, since it's first-person present tense all through this story. Once again I own nothing!**

** The boy is** waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs. I told him a week, didn't I? He is wearing the shirt I found in the prop room. It fits him well. He is still wearing the sack over his head. "Where were you?" He asks, and even with the sack covering all but his eyes, I can feel the heat from his glare.

"I told you I would be back in a week." I hand over the bag I filled with a few more clothes and a week's worth of food.

"That means nothing to someone who spent his life in a cage." I inwardly kick myself. _Of course!_ I do not have time to apologize. He is pawing through the bag. "I need wood. Tools as well."

"I will be sure to bring them next time." I want to scold him for his lack of manners, but I quickly remember how sheltered he has been. "Will there be anything else?"

"Whatever you think of will be fine." His tone is dismissive, as if he is eager for me to leave.

"I can get you a new mask if you'd like. That sack looks stifling." It is a sensitive topic, particularly for just our second meeting, but it had to be asked. I feel him glaring at me again, and it is several minutes before he replies.

"I can make my own with the right materials."

"I'll see that you get them then. I suppose I'll see you in a week?"

"Good bye then." With nothing else to say, he gets back in his boat and pushes off, not taking one look back at me.

The week passes slowly. Between practices, my mind is on the masked boy. He has not told me his given name, even after I told him mine. Perhaps he has none, or perhaps it has been so long that he has forgotten it. I refuse to call him by his stage name, however. Never in all my life have I heard anything so cruel. Of course, when I was younger, there were a few drunken fathers in my neighborhood who took all their rage out on their children. I am thankful that I was sent to the opera house when I was six; although my father was never like that, I could see that my mother hated the thought of me bearing witness to the cruelty.

Perhaps it is because of the pain and humiliation that the boy does not trust me with his name yet. Part of me warns that I should not get too attached; dancing is my top priority. However, I chose to be his only link to the outside world. I did not have much time to think about what I was doing. I just knew that it was right.

Still, he needs a name. I have two sacks this time as I descend the spiral staircase, and I am shocked when I see him approaching without the boat. He is completely soaked through; I can only guess that he swam his way to the stairs. "I hope you brought wood this time," he sputters. I really must teach this boy some manners.

"Yes, I did. I also found some scraps of leather for your mask."

"That will do for now, I suppose."

"I cannot read your mind, you know. Just tell me what you need." I am growing impatient, but I hold it in. He cannot help the way he was brought up.

"The leather will do for now, as I said. It would be pointless for me to make anything permanent just yet."

"May I ask you something?"

"You just did." _Clever boy, this one._

"Do you have a name?" He hesitates for the longest time, and I can feel him studying my face.

"You mean besides the 'Devil's Child'?"

"Don't say that! That's not a proper name for anyone!"

"Many people would say otherwise." He lets out a long sigh. "I seem to recall the name Erik."

"Pleased to meet you, Erik." I extend my hand, and he stares at it. "You're supposed to shake it." He is slow in doing so. As our eyes meet, I see so much in his. It causes me to wonder how he had ended up in the fair in the first place. He cannot be more than one or two years younger than I, and he has been so sheltered from the world, yet his eyes show that he has had to grow up much too fast. I want to question him further, but the words don't come. That subject is best left for some other time, I realize. "I'll be bringing some candles and such next time. It's far too dark down here, and I apologize for not thinking of that sooner."

"Darkness suits me just fine, though I suppose a few candles would be alright."

"Will there be anything else?"

"If I think of anything, I'll let you know." He turns to go back into the lake. I watch him toss the sacks over his thin shoulders; the water must not be as deep as I suspected, as he is able to wade through it. All too soon, darkness swallows him, and I must return to the dorm room before I am missed.

**Months have passed. **Each week, I have met him twenty minutes before curfew at the bottom of the stairs, and each week his list has grown longer. Erik has grown more and more accustomed to his surroundings and has accepted that the caverns are his new home. He has also become more comfortable in bossing me around, as if he owns the place. I try to teach him manners, and some he has started to stick to. Others, such as saying 'please' and 'thank you', he completely ignores, and I have given up trying to explain them to him.

Part of me is curious as to how he has made a home for himself in all that darkness, and occasionally he looks at me as if to ask if I want to join him in the boat. These looks always come after a moment of hesitation, as if he's trying to be polite as I have taught him. I can see that he really doesn't want my company, and I am still fearful of what lies beyond the lake.

His mask was finished a week after I had given him the leather material, and it covers only the right half of his face. I am now able to see more of his sadness, more of his impatience when I talk too much, and I can even see when he occasionally smirks if I show any sign of fear.

Mind you, I did not plan on showing my fear. When does one? It happened, just the same, one particular time I ventured down the stairs. A very large spider decided to perch on my shoulder on my way down, and only after I greeted Erik did it decide to show itself to me. I screamed, of course, and brushed it off onto the stone floor. "Scared of a little spider, are we?" Erik smirked for the first time. I chose not to respond. I would not give him the satisfaction. He then bent over and picked the spider up, allowing it to crawl across his arm. Slowly, he brought his arm toward me. I responded by dropping the sacks at his feet and running back up the stairs. His laughter echoed behind me, and he has teased me about it ever since. Typical boy.

His annoying teasing aside, Erik shows almost no emotion outside of bitterness. Dancing has always cheered me up, but he does not seem to be ready to learn. His security seems to come from his mask, the darkness, and the little monkey toy he brought from the fair. I remember how before the "show" began, he sat in his cage with the monkey, placing cymbals on its cloth hands, and banging them together. The simplest music, but it was music nonetheless. I wonder if he can hear the music that seems to always fill the opera house. I do not ask him, however, for if I show the tiniest bit of curiosity, it might come across as me wanting to see where he lives.

Only by the list of items that he gives me each week am I able to guess what he does down there. He is always asking for books, paper, and various writing utensils. Wood and other building materials are also always in demand. I give him what I can find, but I do not want to cause a shortage of supply in the opera house either. I usually turn to the supply of discarded props and costumes stored behind the stables. Whenever I bring Erik one of these unexpected items, I always fear that he will be angry that it isn't exactly what he asked for. Instead, he always studies each item with a raised eyebrow for the longest time before he nods in approval.

On one occasion, the orchestra was surprised with a donation of brand new instruments, and I managed to salvage quite a few discarded small instruments, including a violin. The next week, I found that the seemingly ancient organ had been taken apart and discarded. _Perhaps Erik can find a use for the old wood and metal pipes,_ I thought, and it took quite a few secret trips between the stables and the staircase before it was finally delivered. I watched Erik's face that night. He said absolutely nothing as he placed the parts into his boat. He did not even ask what it had been, nor did he wait for me to explain anyway. He quickly disappeared into the darkness with the first boat load of parts, and I chose that moment to slip away until the next week.

**A/N: My apologies for any and all delays experienced in uploading each chapter of this story. I have some ideas, but as far as flow is concerned I am completely blank. I'm thinking that this story is going to be really short and cover a wide expanse of time, so it will address a number of different events rather than be just a regular story. Feedback is always welcome...next chapter will be up soon-ish, and from Erik's POV, so stay tuned! :)**


	3. Erik's Music

**A/N: Back to Erik's POV...Again, I own nothing!**

** My first **year beneath the opera house has been productive, once I got used to my surroundings. Between visits from Antoinette, I began exploring the many caves in my new home. One of my first discoveries was an underground stream filled with fish. Using tiny lassos, I am able to catch them quite easily. Part of me wanted to tell the dancer of this discovery, so she wouldn't bring more food than I needed. But when one has spent all that time being fed nothing but stale bread and water, he learns to appreciate any extra morsels he can get.

My next big discovery was a cavern located directly beneath what must be the stage. I feel so drawn to the music I can hear that I spend every spare moment just standing there and listening to it. Music has been my escape for as long as I can remember; how convenient for my rescuer to bring me to such a place as an opera house! And then she surprised me with all those beautiful instruments one week...I could not speak. Those tiny cymbals I had for my monkey toy were my only instruments aside from my voice. Never could I have dreamed of ever owning anything more. And yet here it was, a whole pile of them for the taking. I did not linger. I would not let her see the weakness in my face.

I set to work right away restoring the instruments. Most of the smaller ones were still in good condition. The organ was my biggest challenge. It was easy to figure out where each piece went, and soon I had it complete and on the highest platform in my living quarters. When my fingers first touched the keys of the massive instrument, I felt something click inside me. The music flowed through the caverns, echoing off the walls, and for once I did not care if anyone heard. From that first note on, music has quickly become my main focus. I do not play any song in particular, mainly because I do not know any. I play whatever I am feeling at the time.

At one point when Antoinette delivered a few books to me, one stuck out at me. It's pages were not filled with words, they were filled with hundreds of black dots and lines. She must have seen my puzzled expression. "I thought you might like to have it...for your instruments..."

"What for? It's nonsense!"

"It's music." For a moment, her eyes filled with pain. "Each dot is a note...each note matches a key on the organ..."

"How can you tell which one it goes to?" I know how ignorant I must have sounded then, but at the time, curiosity was getting the better of me.

"It's hard to explain when I don't have an instrument in front of me...Besides, I'm a dancer, not a musician."

"So what use do I have for this?" I tossed the music book on the ground. After a moment's hesitation, Antoinette bent down and picked it back up.

"I know someone who could teach you. I just don't know how it would work...he's new this season, Monsieur Reyer. He's the conductor..."

"When you figure it out, you may return this to me. Until then, it would do nothing but clutter up my caves." She looked as though she might comment on my possessive tone, but then she stopped herself. "If there's nothing else, I wish to return to my music." I was in my boat before she had any chance to speak. As I floated back to my living quarters, I was pleased to hear only silence behind me.

It took her a month to figure out my music lessons. Monsieur Reyer had apparently been more than pleased to teach a new musician. He only hesitated for a moment when he heard my list of demands. I copied the organ keys onto several sheets of paper, and through Antoinette I requested that he label it with the name of each note. He was quick to follow through, and he even included an example of each note on a staff, just as they appear in the music book. After all this was done, I only needed to meet with the conductor a few times. When I did, I made sure to remain hidden in the shadows of the orchestra pit while he stood off at a distance to hear me play. The lessons were at night, of course, and only an hour long. Once I got the basics down, I simply stopped asking Antoinette to arrange the lessons. Instead, I had her return the music book to me. The songs it contained I found to be beautiful, however I missed making my own music. And so, after receiving more paper from Antoinette, I started composing my first song. The tune is simple and at a much quicker pace than I usually play. It is the lyrics that came from deep inside me. I thought of my mask for inspiration, mixed with my life in the traveling fair. Once we held a party called a Masquerade, and it was then that I learned how to make different kinds of masks. I remember attending this party and laughing bitterly inside. Here all these people were, doing what I do every day by hiding behind a mask. They thought it as all fun and games. I find it a necessity. It was that bitter sense of humor towards the whole thing that wrote the lyrics for me.

"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade

Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!

Masquerade! Every face a different shade

Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you!

Flash of mauve, splash of puce

Fool and king, ghoul and goose

Green and black, queen and priest

Trace of rouge, face of beast

Faces, take your turn, take a ride

On the merry-go-round in an inhuman race

Eye of gold, thigh of blue

True is false, who is who?

Curl of lip, swirl of gown

Ace of hearts, face of clown

Faces, drink it in, drink it up,

Till you've drowned in the light, in the sound

But who can name the face?

Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds

Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!

Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads

Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!

Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies

Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you!

Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes

Masquerade! Run and hide but a face will still pursue you!"

As soon as the song was complete, I sent a copy of it with Antoinette to give to Monsieur Reyer. He must have loved it, as he sent no comment or criticism.

Antoinette is later than usual this week. She finally appears with two sacks and a small metal box. "You'd better have a good reason for your tardiness," I growl, although I cannot take my eyes off of the box.

"I brought you something extra. You never said when your birthday is, and it has been a year after all..." She hands me the box, and I turn it over in my hands, examining it.

"Well, what is it?" My impatience is met with a wide grin, and I let her take the box again. She turns something in the back, and music begins to play. With each repeat, the song gets slower and slower, until it stops. "Bring plenty of metal next time." I order. I must make one of these for my song. I can place my monkey toy on top; the cymbals suddenly seem quite simple compared to all the other instruments I play. As the plan forms in my mind, I feel that this week will pass much slower than all the rest.

**A/N: 'Masquerade' is not mine. I was just wondering at one point how it came to be that the same tune that was on Erik's music box was the one everyone sang during the Masquerade scene. This was the only logical explanation I could come up with. As always, feedback is welcome, and more to come soon!**


	4. Changes for Antoinette

**A/N: I apologize for confused tense in the previous chapter...I will try to smooth it out in a future edit. Anyway, back to Antoinette's POV, and again, I own nothing!**

** It's been three** years since I delivered the instruments to Erik. Before then, he would accuse me of being late, to a point where I make it my mission to be on time. Now it seems that every once in a while, he is the one who makes me wait. Oh, he'll never admit it of course. "No, you're the one who is early," he'll say. There is no point in arguing. He has made those dark caverns his kingdom, and whatever he says becomes law. I fear that to defy him too much would certainly end in death. I have seen him do it before, and now that he must be around thirteen, he can only be even more dangerous than he was before.

It appears that he is expanding his kingdom, for I have noticed some tools being left on one step in particular. I question Erik about it, and all he says is that it will be a trap for anyone who dares to venture down into his home. "Well, thank you for warning me." I try to match the sarcasm he sometimes uses. He does not reply.

Several weeks pass, and at one point he shows up with his arm in a sling. He says nothing aside from "In the future, it would be wise for you to remember which step the trap is on." It is a rarity for our conversations to stray from the routine of him listing his wants and needs. When it does, it always amazes me as to how intelligent this boy really is. Perhaps it is from the books he reads, or all the time he has to himself with no distractions, so that he is able to just think for hours on end. It more than likely is a combination. Oh, sometimes he'll allow his boyish side seep through, such as whenever a spider happens to appear on the stone wall, reminding him once more of my fear. Those moments are becoming further and further apart, however. I have probably seen him smile, _really_ smile, maybe once or twice. Mostly his face is sad or expressionless. Whenever he manages to make me feel inferior despite the fact that I am older, he lets a smirk cross his face, sometimes paired with a raised eyebrow. I always end up embarrassed and angry in these moments, and my departure follows within seconds. _So what if I'm just letting him win?_ I think to myself as I walk through the corridors to my bed.

One of his most noticeable requests has been for mirrors of every size and shape. I cannot help but wonder what a boy who hides behind a mask all the time would want with a mirror, let alone twenty. He has made it quite clear that it is not my place to question, however, only to obey. It has been a few weeks since he stopped asking for mirrors, and I am still questioning his reason when I see his boat approaching. I start to point out his tardiness, but then dismiss the idea. I already know what he is going to say. I start to hand him the sacks, but he does not reach for them. I look at him, puzzled, and his face registers a careful excitement. "Get in the boat. I want you to see something." I back away.

"No thank you, Erik...I'm quite content to remain right here."

"Are you sure?" He raises an eyebrow, and I think I catch a sparkle in his eye.

"Yes, I'm sure." _No, not really, now that you mention it._ He smirks before looking over my shoulder at the wall. _Uh oh._ I can already guess what he is looking at, but I look anyway. Yes, there is a huge spider, just above my shoulder, as if Erik had planned for it to be there right at this moment. I race forward.

"Ah. I see you've changed your mind."

"Oh, make it quick. There is a curfew, you know." I roll my eyes and follow him into the boat, and he pushes off. I sit stiffly in my seat in front of him. He rounds a curve around the stairs, landing the boat shortly after. He helps me out, and we walk silently down a set of passageways.

"Close your eyes," he orders.

"I most certainly will not!"

"Close them." He growls, and I do as he says. I feel him place his hands on my shoulder, guiding me forward several steps. "Now, open." As my eyes adjust, I see that I am immediately faced with several copies of myself. A room full of mirrors. Flashing another of his smirks, Erik steps away and out of sight.

"Now, Erik, that's not funny! Where are you?" I spin around, and it seems like the mirrors are spinning as well. Erik appears for a split second, but disappears as soon as I move towards him. He is laughing now, but it is impossible to follow his voice as it seems to echo off of every wall. "Erik, I am serious! Stop it this very instant!" I am trying not to cry. I will not give him the satisfaction. But I am getting dizzier by the second, and finally I fall to the floor.

"Would you like me to show you the way out?" He is next to me now. I want to reach out and punch his ankles. But I was raised better than that.

"Please do." He might be reaching down to help me up, but I won't let him. Only when I am standing on my own two feet to I reach out to touch his shoulder, and he leads me down the correct path and to a darkened corridor I've never seen before.

"I felt I should warn you about my newest trap." _Newest? There's more?_ I do not voice my concern. Surprisingly, he continues. "Back in the carnival, before I was completely locked up...there was a house of mirrors. It was my favorite."

"You must have worked hard on that." My comment is met with a simple shrug, and the conversation ends just as quickly as it began. Silently, we make our way down the corridor, until he stops at what appears to be a dead end.

"Pull the lever. It leads to a set of stairs. I believe it will take you to the dorm rooms." I turn to thank him, but he is gone. It occurs to me just now that he mentioned the dorm rooms by name, and not the opera house in general. I have never thought to count the number of passageways there are throughout the opera house walls. I only knew of the one that leads down to the cellars, but apparently there is more than one. If there are others, surely they are in some state of disrepair, and should Erik plan on making use of all of them, he has quite a bit of work ahead of him. I can only hope that he remembers to remain hidden, and that his work will go unnoticed.

**It has been a month** since Erik showed me the mirror room. He has not said a word about it since then, except that there is now a trap door in the main lobby floor that leads straight down into it. How he managed that while still remaining hidden, I shall never know.

My mind has been on other things, anyway. The man who usually delivers our food has fallen ill, and his son has taken over for him. His name is Henri Giry, and we have met once or twice. We have not said more than polite greetings in passing, but I find him quite handsome, for a delivery boy.

I have my love for mornings to blame(or thank) for my knowledge of our deliveries. For as long as I can remember, I have always awakened an hour before the other dancers, when the stage hands are still sleeping off the previous night's indulgence, and when I have the opera house almost to myself. I spend these moments routinely, first by stretching and doing a simple dance, and then making my way toward the kitchen. It is not that I seek an extra handout, mind you. Us dancers are kept on a strict diet, and I have always found it very satisfying. Rather, it is the company of the cook staff I am looking for. The head cook is like a second mother to me, always friendly, and I can talk to her about anything. She is busy in the mornings, of course, between deliveries and breakfast preparations, but she makes time for me. The rest of the kitchen staff are friendly towards me as well, and if Paulette is really too busy, I can always count on them for pleasant conversation.

This morning, I finish my dance exercise slightly earlier than usual and quickly brush my fingers through my hair. It is Henri's day to be here, but I mustn't appear over-eager. To do so would invite unwelcome attention, as I have witnessed from other girls falling victim to one drunken stagehand or another. However, even though I hardly know Henri, I doubt he is like those men. Still, one cannot be too sure. I casually walk down the corridor, and sure enough, Henri has just brought a crate into the kitchen. "Good morning, Mademoiselle!" He smiles at me and tips his hat, and I feel myself blush.

"Good morning." _Stop staring, for goodness sake!_ I look down at the counter in front of me, searching for something, _anything_, significant enough to have caused my sudden change of focus. Unfortunately, my eyes find nothing, and I inwardly scold Paulette for keeping the kitchen so clean! I hear his footsteps approaching me, but I do not look up. Instead, I beg my face to return to a normal color.

"For a beautiful dancer." He places a shiny red apple down in front of me.

"Oh, why thank you, Monsieur!" I finally look at his face, instantly taking notice of his deep blue eyes. _Oh, stop it, Antoinette, just stop it!_

"Please, call me Henri. And what might I call you?"

"A—Antoinette, Monsieu—uh, Henri..." There goes my face again. I am at least able to suppress a giggle.

"Pleased to meet you, Antoinette." He is extending his hand, and I take it. Instead of merely shaking it, he places my hand to his lips.

"Henri? Come now, there's a few more crates on your wagon." Paulette saves me from melting, and at her voice Henri drops my hand. As he disappears through the back door, Paulette looks at me with a raised eyebrow, then grins. Oh, dear, am I _that_ transparent?

The giddiness I feel inside follows me down into the caverns tonight. Erik must sense it, for he is looking at me with a puzzled expression on his face. He does not question me, and I do not explain. However, I am sure he sees me bounce back up the stairs, as it was I, not he, who departed first.

**A/N: Forgive me if Antoinette seems a little out-of-character in that last bit, but you've got to remember she's a 15-year-old girl in this chapter, just as prone to crushes as any other 15-year-old girl. Next chapter should be up sooner than I have been posting, as I have most of it worked out in my notes. Feedback, as always, is welcome! :)**


	5. Erik Learns about Love

**A/N: Back to Erik's POV...I think there's 2 more chapters after this one. Once again, I own nothing!**

**Two years.** It is two years later, and it seems that the sudden change in Antoinette is not going to disappear anytime soon. Yes, even now, I can hear her long before I see her. She is humming her way down the stairs, not missing a note as she steers clear of the trap door. Her voice is not exceptional, but it is not bad at all either, considering she is only a dancer. As she comes into view, I see that she is dancing after all, to whatever tune she is humming. It is not one I recognize. "Do you write songs now, Antoinette?" She is surprised by my question as she hands me the usual sacks.

"Write songs? Me? Why, don't be silly, Erik!" Ah. She is attempting to make _me_ seem foolish for once.

"Well, if it's not that, then what on earth were you humming just now?" I do not why my voice is coming out so harsh. Perhaps it is frustration of not knowing what's in her head.

"Oh, just something..." She waves her hand dismissively and continues her dance. I cannot stand it anymore.

"For goodness sake, girl, what has gotten into you?"

"Oh, Erik...I think...I think I'm in love..." She is biting her lip, and her cheeks are bright red. Love? _Love?_ The word is completely foreign to me. How dare she have this knowledge of something that I've never heard of!

"Whatever does that mean?" My question is met with laughter. _Laughter!_ Of all the sounds I loathe, this one is certainly at the top of the list! It is a sound I had thought I was safe from hearing ever again. Apparently, I was wrong.

"Oh, Erik, you're such a...such a _boy!_" That does it. She may have helped me all these years, but I will not, _will not_, be talked down to in _my _home! I place my hands around her neck, and she finally sees the look in my eyes. Her laughter stops, and fear replaces the carefree expression. I drop my hands, but not my gaze. "F—forgive me, Erik...I wasn't thinking." She turns from me and begins pacing. I hear her sigh before she speaks again. "Love is...the most wonderful feeling in the world. There are different kinds of love, of course. There's the love a mother has for her child...there's the love between two friends...and then there's the 'in-love' sort of love. It's when a man and a woman admire and care for each other so much that they want to spend the rest of their lives together." She turns once again to face me, but she seems to be staring at something far in the distance. "Erik, one day you'll understand. I myself didn't fully understand the concept until I met Henri..." There she goes, biting her lip again. My thoughts, however, are elsewhere. _How can I come to understand? My own mother did not "love" me, what makes you think that anyone else will?_ Suddenly, the cave seems too crowded. I throw the sacks into the boat, leaving Antoinette behind with no explanation. She won't understand anyway. No one will ever understand.

**It has been **a week, and I am staying right here. Antoinette can leave the sacks and go, because I will not see her. How can I possibly face her, knowing that she is so much more happier than I can ever hope to be? Oh, she might swallow her giggles and aimless tunes, she might hide her grins and far-off glances, but I'll know. I'll know that she pities me. _Pity._ I used to crave it. Now I know how patronizing it really is. I do not need pity. Not from her. Not from _anyone._

**Two weeks, and **my food supply other than fish has run out. _Fine._ I reluctantly take my boat to the steps. Four sacks are waiting for me, but she is nowhere. _All the better._ There is a note on top of one of the sacks.

_"Erik, _

_ I cannot keep this up much longer without drawing attention to myself regarding the disappearances of food and materials. If you've found passageways throughout the opera house, it is __high time you started using them and getting things for yourself. If not, I have a very small allowance as far as finances go, but I'm only supposed to use it for emergencies. If you think you're so clever, I suggest making a plan as soon as possible. I'll back you whatever you decide. Just let me know...you cannot hide from me forever. _

_ Sincerely, Antoinette."_

She really should have thought of this before. I believe she would have, too, if not for her 'love', Henri. Honestly, if loving someone gets in the way of rational thinking, I want no part of it!

**When she returns** the following week, I am waiting for her. I do not wait for her to speak. "To answer your question, yes, I have found several passageways, and yes, I have been working on repairing them. However, if you are very eager to discontinue our meetings, then by all means, go to your dear Henri and forget about me. I'll manage just fine."

"It's not that I want to, Erik. The fact is, when I brought you here, I had no idea that it would be for this long. I've only gone with the flow, taking things as they come. It's been years now, and we've both grown. You didn't honestly think that this could go on forever, did you?" I turn my face from her searching eyes. "Erik, just because you've settled quite nicely into a life down here doesn't mean that my life isn't going to change. I...I have dreams, I have needs..."

"And I don't? You don't think that I dream of life without...without THIS?" I tear the mask off my face, standing mere inches from her own face.

"I'm sorry Erik. Of course you do...it's just..." There are tears in her eyes. Why? What could she possibly have to cry about? I turn and walk away, placing the mask back on my face.

"Bringing me here was a mistake. You do not have to say it, I can see it in your eyes. I have become a burden to you."

"No, Erik, that's not what I am saying at all! If I hadn't brought you here, where else could you have gone? Where else would you have been safe?" She is touching my shoulder now. "Erik, I consider you a friend. Even though our meetings are only once a week, you are probably the closest friend I have. Yes, the opera house is full of girls, but there is always competition for the limelight. Every girl wants a part of it, and they will do anything, even sacrifice friendship, to get it."

"So what are the tears for? Why must the meetings end?"

"Forget the tears. You would not understand."

"_I_ wouldn't understand _tears_?" I scoff.

"I said forget them!" Her harshness takes me aback, but only for a moment. She dries her tears before continuing. "I already told you that I will no longer be responsible for the disappearances in the opera house. I am glad you have found passageways. Perhaps now you can move on as well as I."

"If I am as close a friend as you say, then why must the meetings end just because I have the passageways? Tell me that!"

"It's just too dangerous! I am surprised that I have been able to go this long without anyone noticing me sneaking down here!"

"That's not true, Antoinette! If you were so worried about that, you would have stopped years ago!" She is really sobbing now, but I don't care anymore. If this so-called friendship is as fragile as she is implying, it is better for me to remove my emotions from it as soon as possible.

"Fine! You really want to know the reason?"

"Would I have asked if I did not?"

"I'm in love, Erik! Henri is a wonderful man and we love each other. Love like ours does not happen every day, and so when it does, it must become my main focus. I cannot afford to lose him."

"So you think that by coming here, you risk losing him."

"Exactly. I'm sorry, Erik. I did not mean to fall in love, but that fact is, I have fallen in love. That's not something we can ignore. So by all means, repair your passageways. I feel our meetings will end before the year is over."

**I have been working** in the passageways for a month now. The one behind the kitchen walls are the last of them, and I believe that tonight, they will be finished. I am filling in some gaps between the stones when I hear whispered voices. One belongs to Antoinette. The other voice is a man's, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. I bend down and peer through the gap, confident that I am unnoticed. Antoinette is smiling, so this must be her precious Henri. Despite my disgust at his flawless face, this is an opportunity that cannot be missed. I remain in my position and listen. "Oh, Henri, that is horrible! I am so sorry!"

"Thank you, Antoinette, although we have seen it coming for a long time now. He was a very sick man, and he lived a full life. It was only a matter of time."

"Still, my dear, it must be painful for you."

"It is much easier with you here." The two embrace, and I feel as though I might be sick. "Of course, my beautiful dancer, this is a blessing in disguise. He has left the delivery business to me, which means I am much closer to having the means to support a wife, when the time comes."

"And how long might that take?"

"Not soon enough." They embrace again, and now I _know_ I will be sick. They must not know I am here, however, and so I force myself to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. Slowly, I make my way back down into the caverns.

**As I approach our **meeting place, my heart feels heavy. Something is going to happen tonight. I just know it. I land the boat and sit with my back to the stairs and my feet dangling in the water. As if on cue, I hear her footsteps descending into my darkness. I hear the sacks drop to the stone floor, but I do not reach for them. "Erik?" Her voice is quiet and cautious.

"You're leaving." It is not a question. I can hear it in her voice. She sighs in defeat.

"Yes, Erik. Henri has asked me to marry him."

"I suppose you said yes."

"Of course I did. I love him."

"I would think you would be happier about it then."

"I cannot be happy if you are not." I turn to face her, and my gaze immediately falls on her tear-filled eyes. "You are my best friend, Erik. I would hope you could at least be happy for me."

"Why should I? You're leaving! You're abandoning me!" Tears threaten to fill my own eyes, but I force them back, replacing them with sheer rage.

"Erik, for goodness sake, you are quite capable of living on your own. You have passageways to every corner of the opera house! You don't need me anymore!"

"You're right. I don't need you. I never have." My voice is an icy growl. It is a lie, of course, but I am not about to admit it. "Go! Go now and leave me!" With that, I get in the boat and sail into the shadows. I can easily return for the last couple of sacks, long after she is gone.

**A/N: Next chapter to come soon! Feedback welcome!**


	6. Antoinette's New Future

**A/N: Back to Antoinette's POV...once again I own nothing!**

** I step into the **dark corridor for the first time in five years. I am cold, whether from the emptiness inside me or the air around me, I cannot tell. What I do know is that I need time to think, and there is no better place than my old friend's darkness. I do not expect him to be there. Why should he, if he does not even know that I have returned? Even if he does know, he made it quite clear years ago that he does not care. I would have liked a better good bye to him, after all we've been through. But no, if there is one thing I can count on in Erik, it is his stubbornness.

I walk to the lake's edge, tears in my eyes that haven't completely stopped ever since I received the news. I am standing there, staring off into the distance, when a familiar voice sounds from behind me. "Beware of spiders." As I turn to look at him, the first thing I notice is how tall he has gotten. Even from several feet away, he towers above me, dressed in his usual black suit. He has made a few additions, particularly a black wig and cape and a white porcelain mask. "You're back."

"Yes...Henri was in an accident...he is dead..." I cannot keep the tears back, and they flow freely down my face. Erik does not reach out to console me, and I do not expect him to. He stands there, watching me and shifting his weight uncomfortably. He does not know what to do, I suppose, and so he is growing impatient with me. I force myself to still the tears, just enough to speak clearly. "The funeral is not until the spring...the ground is too frozen now."

"Will you return to the stage?"

"Of course not. I have a daughter now. No, I saw that they were in need of a ballet mistress. Perhaps my daughter will dance, when she is old enough."

"How old is she now?"

"Three years last Tuesday. Marguerite Annabelle Giry is her name."

"It's long for such a little girl."

"Yes...usually I call her Meg."

"You should go back to her."

"She is napping. How are you, Erik?" I meet his eyes now, and he glances down.

"I've managed."

"Erik, if you want me to apologize, I will not. You cannot fault me for falling in love."

"What's done is done." He shrugs and moves to stand beside me. We do not speak, only stare across the shadowy lake. "You need to understand that things have changed around here. What we had before...friendship, as you called it...can no longer happen."

"Erik, I..."

"Silence! From here on out, you will refer to me as the Opera Ghost, although some call me the Phantom of the Opera." My jaw drops at his words.

"People know about you?"

"It was not something I planned on, I can assure you of that. I was in one of my passageways when one of the dancers must have heard me. Acting like a ghost was the first thing that came to mind."

"Oh, Erik, must you frighten them? Those dancers have enough to worry about without a so-called ghost sneaking around!"

"Did I not tell you to call me Opera Ghost?" The familiar flash of anger appears in his eyes, and I involuntarily take a step back. "Besides. I do not go upstairs often, and when I do, it is for more important reasons than playing with the minds of the dancing girls."

"See that it's not. I am now responsible for those girls, and I-"

"You think I would put those girls in danger? What do you take me for, Antoinette?"

"A man who does not know his own strength." I meet his eyes evenly. "And if you have any passageways behind the walls of the dormitories, you had better tell me now."

"There are some, yes..." He seems shocked at my bravery.

"I forbid you from using them. You must promise to allow the girls to have their privacy."

"You have my word." Just as suddenly as it appeared, the shock melts away. "Now you will hear my demands. You will not come down here again unless I send for you. I have been in communication with the manager through notes I place in various locations, and I will begin sending you notes as well. Furthermore, you must know that I have demanded Box Five to be left empty for my use."

"Box Five! Do you know how expensive that is?"

"I am able to afford it." He is hiding something. I can see it in his shifting eyes.

"How?" We are both surprised by the growl in my voice. He lets out a sigh.

"The manager pays me a small salary every month. It is for materials and emergencies that might arise."

"And what do you do to earn this salary?"

"It is simple. I allow the show to go on." His mouth twists into a mischievous smirk.

"Exactly how small a salary is it?" I swallow the scream that threatens to escape my lips. _Blackmail!_ But of course he does not know any better, and he certainly won't listen to me if I try to explain it.

"Only twenty thousand francs."

"Why Erik, that's..."

"I swear to you Antoinette, if you dare utter that name again..." His threatening tone shatters my train of thought. "You must refrain from using my real name, else you give my secret away. You have been careful before, but now that my presence is known, it would only be a matter of time before your tongue slips. If it's easier, you may call me 'O.G.'."

"Very well."

"Now then, there are several smaller passageways throughout the opera house that I will allow you to use, to keep an eye on the girls. I will show them to you in time. For now, go to your daughter." With a dismissive wave of his hand, he is gone.

_"Mme. Giry,_

_ Enclosed are several bills that you will deposit in the bank of your choosing. From here on, you will collect my salary and deposit exactly ninety percent in your name. You may take five percent for your own use, and place the remaining funds behind the curtains of Box Five._

_ Sincerely,_

_ O.G."_

_ For one who did not plan to be heard, he has certainly embraced the role of a ghost,_ I think to myself as I study the red skull seal. I found the envelope in the prop room, and I cannot help but wonder how he knew I would be going in there today. Even with the note removed, the envelope is extremely thick. I reach in and pull out a massive stack of bills, oh so much more than I have ever seen in my life. _Deposit it? In my name? Would that not raise suspicion?_ No, I cannot do it. I cannot risk anyone asking questions. _Think, Antoinette, think!_ My thoughts turn to my daughter, who is at this very moment following the dancers around. The older girls know by now to help me keep an eye on her, but her three-year-old curiosity is starting to make me nervous.

All of a sudden, inspiration strikes, and I call out to one of the older chorus girls. "Jeanette! Would you mind watching Meg for a few minutes? I have an errand to run."

"Of course, Madame Giry." Jeanette's eager grin remind me of how well she gets along with my daughter. My mind at ease, I hurry off to the bank to open an account in Meg's name.

**It is before dawn** when I enter the stables. Erik is there, just as planned, blending in with the shadows. When I first approached him with my request, I was met with all-out refusal. Only with non-stop persistence on my part is he here now. I silently motion him towards one of the empty carriages, and once he is inside I go to fetch the driver.

Only when we are on our way does he speak. "Why of all people do you need _me_ here?" I am glad he is keeping his voice low; Meg has not yet awakened and is using my lap for a pillow.

"Because whether or not you like it, you are my oldest and dearest friend. I wouldn't think of coming without you." It is something I've been repeating all along, and he still will not accept it. "Besides, as I said, it will be a small, private funeral. Other than us, only Henri's mother and sister will be there." He does not respond, and I do not know if I prefer his silence or his arguments. He is staring out the carriage window, and I can only wonder what is going through his mind. After all, it has been ten years since he has been outside the opera house.

We arrive at the graveyard with plenty of time to spare. The cemetery is covered in a thick fog, and I am sure my friend is thankful for the added 'mask' to hide in. Even now, as we approach the grave site, he is holding back. I feel that I should say something, anything, to reassure him that his presence is more than welcome, but I see the undertaker's carriage arriving. Henri's family is not far behind. Meg chooses this moment to wake up, and she immediately starts crying for her breakfast. I suddenly feel overwhelmed and light-headed. _This was not supposed to happen. None of this. Henri was young...it's too soon..._ Suddenly, a black leather-gloved hand reaches out toward Meg, and in it is a small crust of bread. I search Erik's face for an explanation. "I brought it along just to nibble on. It appears as though she needs it more than I do."

"Thank you." The words are few, but I hope that he sees in my face exactly how grateful I am. He is no longer looking at me, however, and I follow his gaze until I see my late husband's family approaching us.

"Who is this?" Henri's mother questions. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Erik shift his weight uncomfortably. For the first time, I have second thoughts about inviting him here.

"This is an old friend of mine, from my childhood."

"Erik." He surprises me by extending his hand, as if he was raised to be a gentleman. I am more surprised, however, that he has given his real name. But then, introducing one's self as 'Opera Ghost' at a funeral is hardly appropriate. My thoughts shift again as Henri's coffin is brought to the grave site. Although I am already holding Meg's hand tightly, I give it an extra squeeze as I absentmindedly walk over to it.

Throughout the small service, all my attention is on the tears I am shedding and the love of my life gone too soon. At some point, Erik slips away to hide in the carriage. I only notice his absence when Meg moves to follow him. I will not let her, however. This is her father we are burying, after all, not to mention I am unsure as to the state of mind Erik is in. He is in a strange place full of strangers, and only here because I would not let him refuse. The time soon comes for me to place my single red rose on the wooden box. I do so slowly and reluctantly, adding a small caress to the lid. "Good bye, my love," I whisper.

My feet stay planted until the fresh mound of dirt is complete. I barely notice my in-laws leaving, and I mumble a polite good bye. I am sure that they understand...even so, I make a silent vow to visit them every now and again. I let go of Meg's tiny hand; she knows not to go running off. Instead, she decides to fall asleep in the nearby grass. If I was not in tears right now, I would scold her for getting stains on her nice black dress. Instead, I stare at my husband's grave, wishing I could feel just once more his strong arms around me as he whispers in my ear, "I love you, my beautiful dancer." A fresh wave of tears washes over me now, and I place my face in my hands. I hear his footprints before I feel his hand gingerly touch my shoulder.

"He was not supposed to die, Erik! He was so young..." His name slips out before I can stop it, but for once, he does not scold me.

"You must be strong. For Meg's sake."

"I know...It's just so hard...I loved him so much!"

"At least...you have Meg..."

"Yes, I have Meg." I sigh. "And I know her beauty will match his handsomeness." His hand stiffens, but again, he does not scold me. Even so, he did not deserve that. "I'm sorry."

"Don't ever be sorry for stating the truth, Antoinette. Now come...we must return so Meg can finish her nap in a proper bed." I wipe the tears from my eyes while he picks the sleeping child up. Silently, we walk back to the carriage. Once I am seated, he hands my daughter over to me before taking his own seat. As we are leaving, I keep my gaze on the mound of dirt until it is out of sight.

**A/N: More to come soon, and it will be the last chapter! Again, feedback is always deeply appreciated!**


	7. A Transition and a Promise

**A/N: WARNING: POV is switched up, so it is no longer in first-person. Also, it is now in PAST tense. Sorry in advance for any confusion...once again I own nothing!**

** Over the next **few weeks, Antoinette mainly kept to herself. One of the more advanced dancers took over the majority of her duties without her needing to ask, and she was equally grateful that Erik did not send for her. Even though he had never experienced a loss such as this, he seemed to understand that she had not yet had a proper grieving period, between selling their house, moving back to the opera house, and stepping into the roll of ballet mistress. Even sweet, little Meg seemed much calmer around her mother during these long weeks. Jeanette often arrived at Madame Giry's quarters soon after breakfast to take Meg on strolls around the theater. Paulette soon followed with a breakfast tray, from which Antoinette only took a few bites before curling up on her bed.

She sometimes thought of going to the kitchen for lunch, but the idea was always quickly dismissed. After all, it was there that she and Henri met, and so it would be far too painful to face those memories just yet. And so, when her tears dried and the pain had somewhat subsided, she danced. She danced to the music of her pain and her uncertainty of the future. She danced to the music of the silence, relishing the moments she had all to herself. And then the memories came rushing back to her, reminding her of her loss and her new responsibilities, and she would collapse on the bed for yet another crying spell.

On one particular afternoon, her crying spell was interrupted by Jeanette bursting into the room, her own tears flooding down her cheeks. "Oh, Madame Giry...I only took my eyes off her one second! One second!" The panic in her voice was contagious, and Antoinette's tears quickly dried.

"Jeanette, you must control yourself! What exactly happened?"

"We were down the corridor outside the dressing rooms. Everything was fine. She was babbling on about one of the dance routines, at least that's what I could make of it. Just then some of the stagehands appeared with a heavy set piece...I quickly moved out of the way...when they were gone, so was she!"

"Did you check the dressing rooms or question the stagehands?" Antoinette knew she had to remain calm, as an example to the younger woman, despite the screams that threatened to emerge from her very soul.

"The stagehands saw nothing...and I did check the dressing rooms, and they were all empty!"

"Please, Jeanette, do calm down. Go to the kitchen and ask for a cup of tea. Once you feel better, go see if Monsieur Reyer will work with you on your solo."

"Yes, Madame. And I truly am sorry..." Jeanette exited the room with her head hung, and Antoinette said a silent prayer before beginning her own search.

**The sound of a **wailing child broke Erik's concentration. For a moment, he thought it was a ghost from his past, echoing the pain he had felt so many times before. But no, these belonged to a girl, one much younger than he had been at that time. With a frustrated sigh, he reluctantly abandoned the trap he had been working on and followed the voice up the spiral staircase. Once he reached the source, he stopped dead in his tracks. It was none other than little Meg Giry, sitting on the slightly damp floor and clutching her knee. _Where in the world is her mother?_ Anger flared up inside him. He himself had been neglected by his mother, and he did not wish that on his worst enemy, let alone this little innocent girl. _Alright, you've established your feelings, now what are you going to do about it?_ He hated when his thoughts did that. But as always, they had a point, and he studied the situation before him. Finally, shaking inside, he got down to her level and attempted to appear as non-frightening as possible. She brought her tiny head up to face him, and the first thing he noticed was how big and blue her eyes were. "I...fall...down..." she managed through breathless sobs. He was speechless. What did she want him to do? That is, what did she want him to do that would not put her in danger? Finally, he began humming a tune he had been working on. He did not have any words to it yet, but he found the tune quite soothing. Apparently, Meg felt the same, and her tears soon slowed down. "I want..Mama..."

"Let's go find her then." He gently picked her up and lifted himself onto his feet. He immediately knew where they were, and began making his way back to the mirror-door that led to one of the dressing rooms. For a moment, he hesitated before stepping through. It was the middle of the afternoon, in broad daylight. Anyone could be walking by and see him.

"My knee...hurts..." Meg's words made up his mind for him, and he slid open the door. Almost instantly, Antoinette was in front of him, grabbing her daughter out of his arms.

"There, there, Marguerite...I'm here..." Antoinette spoke softly as her daughter clung tightly to her neck.

"Mama...I fall down...knee hurt..."

"Let's go into the kitchen. I'm sure Paulette will have something for you." Antoinette brushed her hand across Meg's tear-stained face. "O.G., wait in that corridor. I must speak with you."

"And I have words of my own, Madame Giry." Erik allowed the coolness in his voice to sink in before he disappeared in a swish of his cape.

**As soon as Paulette **saw the sobbing child, she gathered Meg up into her arms. "Aww...did someone skin their knee? Well, we'll just have to fix that up, won't we?"

"Thank you, Paulette. Would you keep a close eye on her for me? Don't let her leave this room? There's some urgent business I need to take care of."

"No need to explain. I'll take good care of her."

"I know you will. I won't be long." Antoinette managed a half-smile before swiftly making her way back to the dressing room. _Erik, you had better have a very good explanation for this!_

For the longest time after they were face to face again, neither one spoke. They allowed their eyes to do the talking for them, and both looks were that of accusation. Finally, it was Antoinette who broke the silence. "O.G., I want answers, and I want them _now!_ What was Meg doing back here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. But I can assure you, had you been doing your duty as her mother, this would never have happened!"

"How _dare_ you tell _me_ how to raise _my own_ daughter!" Antoinette brought her hand up and slapped his face. As soon as the contact was made, she deeply regretted it, but it was too late. Erik shook the initial shock off, then took her by the shoulders and began shaking her. "Erik, stop it! Please!" Erik took one look at her eyes, and his grip loosened. He turned his back to her, choosing to ignore the sound of her catching her breath.

"You should know by now that I will not be struck ever again without there being severe consequences." Antoinette sighed. This was as close to an apology as she was going to get.

"And I will have _you_ know that I am Meg's mother, and I will do anything to protect her."

"I was doing nothing! I would never, ever harm her!"

"I wish I could believe you, Erik, but your most recent outburst gives me cause to doubt. Until you learn to control that temper of yours, I want you to promise to stay away from my daughter."

"I thought I told you to call me O.G."

"_Erik_, promise me." They were exchanging glares again, but this time, Erik was the one who spoke first.

"I'll give my word on one condition, and you _will_ hear me out. It is obvious that we both care for Meg's safety very deeply. And so you will promise me that you will not let Meg out of your sight. I know your dear husband died and you miss him, but don't allow that to overshadow the fact that you have a daughter who depends on you to be there for her." As he spoke, Antoinette could only guess at where these words were coming from. But of course. He had been neglected. It all made sense.

"I promise." She spoke softly, but she meant every word.

"Then I promise." They shook hands, and before anymore words could be spoken, he disappeared in a dramatic swish of his cape.

**As the year passed,** Antoinette's crying spells diminished, and she was soon able to resume her normal duties as Meg's mother and as the ballet mistress. Erik wasted no time continuing to send messages to and through her. At first, Antoinette found it cruel, but when she realized it was helping her to think outside her grief, she found she could not be angry with him. Oh, she still missed Henri, to be sure, and sometimes she was so overwhelmed by the memories that she would cry herself to sleep, but she did not let that consume her. Instead, she vowed to raise Meg to be a daughter Henri would have been proud of. _After all,_ she thought, _if he is looking down and watching me, he would not want to see me wasting away to nothing but a pool of tears._

**Erik, in turn, **watched the world pass by from behind stone walls and the Box Five curtains. Although he never said it aloud, he felt a small amount of pride toward Antoinette as she emerged from her sorrow and stuck to her daughter like glue. Not only did he hate to see Meg left alone, he hated to see Antoinette so sad. Of course, he would never admit it, and if that thought rose up in his mind, he shoved it right back down. It wasn't long before he could put his mind at ease about Meg's welfare, and she soon blended in with the rest of the little girls, especially once she was old enough to join the ballet.

Whenever inspiration refused to strike as far as his music was concerned, he went on strolls through the passageways or played tiny harmless pranks on whomever looked as though they deserved one. These pranks were the one thing he kept Antoinette in the dark about. If anyone other than himself knew of them, the element of surprise would be completely ruined.

Inspiration often came from watching rehearsals and performances from Box Five. When he first demanded it to be reserved for himself, a small trickle of cast and crew members attempted to sneak a peek at the Opera Ghost. Erik always saw them coming, however, and from his hiding spot behind the curtains, he still made his presence known by making what he hoped were ghost-like sounds. His only regret was not being able to laugh aloud at their retreating figures.

Erik enjoyed one evening in particular. It was during Antoinette's third year as the ballet mistress, and the manager was putting on a small private New-Year's Eve concert for his most faithful(and most wealthy) opera-goers, and the special guest musician was a violinist from Sweden. Gustave Daae was apparently very well-known in the outside world, and Erik was very eager to hear another master of the instrument. He heard it mentioned that Antoinette was asked to watch the violinist's daughter, Christine, during the rehearsals and final performance, but he was not the least bit interested in anything about their guest except how well he played, and if his talents matched his reputation. After all, to him, Christine Daae was just another little girl running around the opera house.

Gustave's performance lived up to Erik's expectation. He would not allow himself to be too pleased by his talent, however. After all, his own music was extremely precious to him, and he would not let himself be threatened by any other musician, let alone a foreigner.

The pleasantness surrounding Monsieur Daae's visit was short-lived, however. In the week that followed the concert, word soon arrived that the Swedish violinist had fallen ill. He was staying with the manager a few blocks from the opera house, and it was solemnly announced that the doctor had not given him very much time to live. Antoinette was asked to spend some time living there; Gustave had requested that his daughter go to live in the opera house once he was gone, and it was agreed that Antoinette was the right choice to help Christine with the transition. Antoinette immediately felt pity toward the little girl, who was the same age as her own daughter. And so, she gingerly but urgently sent a message down to Erik, hoping that he would understand her absence.

"I managed five years without you here, Antoinette. I believe I can take care of myself." Erik scoffed in reply. They were in the corridor behind the mirror.

"Yes, well, I just wanted to give you warning that Meg and I won't be around. I cannot tell you when we will be back."

"You don't think I know everything that goes on within this opera house? I was already well-aware of your plans."

"Very well. We will be leaving in the morning. And, O.G.," Antoinette allowed a smile to appear on her face. "Don't do anything rash while I'm gone. I cannot very well bring Christine to a burnt-down opera house or anything like that." She made sure he caught the lightheartedness of her tone.

"Why on earth would I burn my own house down, Antoinette? Honestly." Erik matched her smile—he even allowed a chuckle to escape his throat. "You just watch out for spiders." A flash of mischievousness passed over his face, and with that, the two went their separate ways.

**A/N: Okay, so that was a tiny bit longer than I expected...certainly much longer than all my other final chapters. Anywho, I think you all know the story from here. Now you can either re-read 'Never Alone', or just wait for my next story entitled 'The Phantom Letters'. I thank you once again for your reviews! It's always great to hear my stories are actually being read! :)**


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